


The Queen Bed

by freyjaschariot



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, One Shot, olicity pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 13:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2853029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjaschariot/pseuds/freyjaschariot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity is pregnant and Oliver can't sleep; fluff ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Queen Bed

During the five years Oliver spent on Lian Yu he became what some people might call a light sleeper, if by ‘light sleeper’ they meant that anything louder than a gentle breeze would instantly wake him up. It was a survival mechanism that had saved his life more times than he could count. It was also a condition that, once acquired, proved almost impossible to get rid off, a reality that came back to haunt him once Felicity hit her third trimester and was suddenly getting up to pee every few hours throughout the night. Halfway through their second week without a full night’s sleep, Felicity came out of the bathroom just after 2 AM, shoulders slumped with exhaustion. She flopped back onto the bed and rolled onto her side to gaze up at her husband. 

“I feel like a jerk for waking you up every time I have to pee. I was thinking I could go stay in the guest room for a while, just until my bladder decides to regain a sense of common decency.” 

Oliver raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m not going to kick my pregnant wife out of her own bed.” 

“Fine,” Felicity said, rolling onto her back and folding her hands atop the burgeoning bump. She was dressed solely in one of Oliver’s old undershirts, stretched tight against the curve of her stomach, and a pair of his thick socks; hers no longer fit over her swollen ankles. “Then you should go. There’s no reason for us both to be exhausted. And it’s dangerous for you to be vigilantying on four hours of sleep. I don’t want to have to explain to our child that their father caught a bullet and died because my bladder kept him up at night.” 

“Felicity,” Oliver said, in his most serious ‘end of this conversation’ voice. “It’s fine." 

“Well if you’re sure,” she said, yawning and snuggling into his side, at least as close as they could get with her belly in-between them. He could tell that exhaustion was doing a lot more for his side of the argument than anything he had actually said. 

“I still feel bad though,” she mumbled into his chest as the lure of sleep dragged her under. 

After that he pretended not to wake up every time she slid out of bed. He even faked a few snores every now and then to add a bit of weight to his performance. Sometimes he would crack open an eye and see her running her hands over the bump as she stumbled toward the bathroom in the dark. 

“Baby, why you gotta do this to momma, eh?” he heard her sigh a week after their conversation as she got up to make the trip for the third time that night. When she came back to bed he gave his most convincing snore. She curled up next to him and slid a hand beneath his t-shirt to rest on his hip bone. He almost let out an audible sigh at the feeling of her warm finger resting lightly on his skin only to remember at the last second that he was supposed to be asleep and choke it down. 

“Oliver, I know you’re awake,” she murmured. 

He held his breath, waiting for her to officially kick him out of the room, to tell him that he needed his sleep if they were going to keep up their ‘nighttime activities’ (either one of them, she’d say with a wink). Only she didn't. Instead she pressed herself closer, took his arm, and wrapped it around her torso.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice thick with sleep.

His mouth curved into a smile; he was right where he belonged.


End file.
